New Mexico Gun-Down by Jon Sharpe

Author:Jon Sharpe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2010-10-18T00:00:00+00:00

12

Fargo needed the perfect spot. The bandits would be suspicious and wary. As he paralleled the blue ribbon on the valley floor, he studied the green forest on both adjoining slopes.

“I heard what you told the girl, gringo,” Terreros said. “I will never help you against my men.”

“Care to bet?”

“I can’t wait for them to kill you so I can piss on your body.”

“How’s your head?” Fargo asked. “It must hurt like hell, hanging upside down like that for so long.”

“Bastardo. I will have my men hold you down while I take a knife and slit your belly. I will rip out your intestines and stuff them down your throat. I have done that, you know, to others who made me mad.”

“I’m going to make you madder.”

The forest came closer to the stream on the right than on the left. At one point a needle of trees grew to within sixty feet of the bank. The finger was ten yards at its widest, narrowing near the water. There wasn’t much undergrowth and the trees grew far enough apart that anyone could see in. Especially if they had a spyglass.

Fargo rode to a clear spot in the middle. Sliding down, he walked in a circle, debating.

Finally he turned to the palomino and quickly untied the knots that bound Terreros’s wrists and ankles. “Climb down.”

Terreros lay over the saddle like a limp cloth. His arms twitched, and he groaned. “You know I can’t, you bastard. The blood has been cut off too long. I can hardly move.”

“Let me help you.”

Gripping a leg, Fargo tumbled Terreros to the ground. Terreros yelped and thrashed and cursed luridly.

“Senor Fargo!” Sister Angelina remonstrated. “Was that really necessary?”

“It felt good,” Fargo said.

Terreros got his hands under him and attempted to stand but he couldn’t rise more than a few inches. He sank down, his cheek in the dirt, and glared. “You pile insult on top of insult.”

“Might as well add another, then.” Fargo squatted and tied Terreros’s ankles together. Then he roughly jerked Terreros’s arms behind his back and bound both wrists. Hauling Terreros to his knees, he dragged him to a tree and secured the rope so that Terreros could hardly move. “There. You won’t be going anywhere.”

“Your mother was a whore.”

“So was your father.”

Fargo sat and tugged at his right boot. It took some doing to get it off. Setting it aside, he peeled off his sock.

“What are you up to now?” Sister Angelina asked.

“It needs washing,” Fargo said. He rose, faced Terreros, and punched him in the stomach. Terreros doubled over, gurgling and wheezing, his mouth wide. So wide, it took a twinkling for Fargo to stuff the sock into Terreros’s mouth. “That should keep you quiet.”

Terreros’s eyes bulged. He coughed and gagged and sought to spit the sock out but couldn’t. His face became purple and spittle dribbled over his lip.

“Keep that up and you’re liable to choke to death,” Fargo said as he sat to pull his boot back on.

Terreros looked fit to vomit.

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